Visits to You
by wingako
Summary: Mark/Roger songfic. Please read and review! (or review if you've already read it! ^^) Thanks!


Disclaimer: This song belongs to Anthony Rapp, whose CD has inspired me to actually finish this. Most of the characters belong to Jonathan Larson. Only the story is mine, I'm hoping it hasn't been done to death, but I really wanted to write it. Oooh, and I didn't know before I started writing this that the song was about his mother (…right?), so I don't mean any disrespect (if there is any to be found) by this fic.

Note: I started this fic probably over 6 months ago, would get inspired and then end up dropping it again. So I'm very happy to be finally finishing it, I'm also a bit sad that's actually done. I do not proclaim to hold any knowledge over hospital procedures and illnesses, but I tried to make it as realistic as possible with my personal experience and such. Many thanks to my friend Steph beta-ing this for me, she picked up on some things I missed. Please review! Thanks. ^-^

Note 8/3: fixed a spelling error that was really bothering me

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-Italics mean lyrics- Text is story line.

Visits to You

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-Visits to you are suddenly new-

He held his breath as he pulled the door open, he hated the smell of these places, there was never anything inviting about the smell of disinfectants, rubber gloves, and death. Once inside he paused and let out a deep breath as his eyes adjusted to the fluorescent lighting. He glanced around uncertainly, wondering why this place wasn't familiar by now; he had, after all, been coming here every day for the past month. He traced his way through the maze of hallways, stopping at the nurse's station. The same woman was always on duty- Susan. _Didn't she ever have a day off?_ Her eyes lit up with recognition.

"Mr Cohen, back already?" she handed him the clipboard so he could sign in. 

"Is there any change?" Screw small talk, straight to the point, Mark asked as he scrawled his name untidily, avoiding her eyes. He searched for a clock on the too-white wall, it was 10:17.

"No, no change," she smiled sadly, "but that can be a good thing. It's better than getting worse." 

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-And suddenly everything's sacred-

Mark paused just outside the doorway, his slight frame trembled. His eyes wandered from the charts that could tell him more than he could bear to know, to the unmade, empty bed inside the room. It's former inhabitant was sitting in a chair, staring out the window. Mark entered the room quietly, surveying his lover's body; he seemed even skinnier than the day before, his body almost swimming in the green flannel pajamas that made him look deathly pale. His eyes gazed outside. 

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-I've been here before-

Mark summoned all the happiness he could to his voice, "Good morning, Roge!"

"Not really," Roger's voice croaked. He stood to greet his visitor, stumbling in the process. 

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-Will I be here again?-

"Have you eaten yet today?" Mark asked, earning a scowl in response. _I can't keep coming here expecting the same old Roger sitting there strumming his guitar._ It didn't matter how much he wanted that. It wouldn't happen. 

"I'm sorry," Mark apologized, putting his arms around Roger. "You're cold."

"I'm fine," Roger stepped out of his embrace.

"No you're not, don't be stubborn."

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-Please tell me you'll never be taken-

Roger sat down on the edge of his bed, looking tired. Mark put a blanket around him and sat, wishing this uncomfortable feeling would pass.

"How are you?" he asked lamely.

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-Is this another time? Or is this the last time?-

Roger laughed, apparently finding amusement in the situation.

"What?" Mark asked, surprised.

"You look so uncomfortable," the mischievous spark returned to the musician's eyes.

"I'm glad I'm doing something right to cheer you up," Mark sighed.

"Mark, you don't have to-" he doubled over, coughing.

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-How much more time?-

Mark rubbed Roger's back as he choked, there was nothing he could do once a coughing fit came on. A nurse silently glided in and laid a pill next to Roger's water glass. Marked handed it and the cup to Roger, who swallowed the pill and gulped the rest of the water down.

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-When will time take away my visits to you?-

Mark emerged from the hospital hours later, kicked out by an angry nurse for staying past visiting hours. Family only could spend the night, apparently significant other didn't count. Even though he wished he could have stayed longer, he selfishly was happy to be out in the crisp fall air.

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-Living with this-

The phone rang, jolting Mark awake. He heard the answering machine pick up.

"This message is for Mark Cohen, regarding Roger Davis whom is currently a patient at-" Mark made a wild dash for the phone, knocking it to the floor. He recovered.

"Hello? This is Mark. What's wrong with Roger?" He tried to decipher the medical jargon, but all he could understand was that it wasn't good.

Mark didn't stop to breathe until he was standing in front of the hospital. He stood staring up at the massive building, wondering what he would find once inside. _How much could have changed overnight?_ The irrational side of Mark's brain wanted him to run screaming into the horizon and never turn back. His feet carried him inside and to the main reception desk. No more familiar face of Susan smiling at him, instead, he faced the unwelcoming frown of Gertrude, he quickly noted the nametag.

"What room has Roger Davis been moved to?" He tapped nervously on the counter while she looked up the information on the computer. Mark tried to remember the directions, _how many wings are there in this hospital? _

"Sir, are you immediate family?" she asked as an afterthought.

"No," Mark frowned and took off down the hallway.

After getting lost twice, he found the right wing and another reception desk. He approached it timidly.

"Can I help you?" the nurse asked, not taking her eyes from the computer monitor.

"I'm here to see Roger Davis," Marks voice grew small. 

"Name?"

He struggled to swallow. Should he lie? Pretend to be a brother? But the hospital had Roger's records, they would know he didn't have a brother.
    
    "Mark Cohen."

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Tap tap tap. Her fingers moved quickly across the keyboard. "You're not a relative." Her eyes roved over the monitor. "But you're listed here as the only consult concerning the patient."

Mark grimaced at the generalization, _patient_. _He's a human being, dammit._

"What is your relation to the patient?" she rolled her chair back, her eyes focused onto him with a piercing stare.

"A friend."

Her eyes returned to the screen. "I'm sorry, but maybe if you can get in touch with his parents, they can-"

Mark felt the anger boiling in his veins. "**Maybe** his parents don't want to be in touch with either of us," he spat.

"Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to lea-"

"No!" he cut her off again. "No, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to lose my temper, it's just a touchy subject and the past few weeks have been hard." He took a deep breath. "Please let me in."

"I'm sorry, only immediate family or spouses."

Mark's voice shook, "Does boyfriend count?"

The nurse looked at him skeptically and sighed, pushing an unseen button. The door buzzed and Mark was able to push it open.

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-Holding your hand-

Mark rushed to Roger's side. "Hey," he said softly.

"What took you so long? Susan said she called you over an hour ago," Roger wheezed, terror in his voice.

"I'm sorry, Roge," Mark stroked his cheek, "they didn't want to let me in."

Roger's struggled breaths mingled with the sounds on machines humming and beeping around them.

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-Knowing I'll have to let go soon-

Mark took a deep breath, "I think we should tell your parents."

Roger tried to object so forcefully that he started coughing. Mark watched in alarm as his love gasped for breath. _Why did I try to bring that up?_

"Roger, I'm sorry. Just try to breathe. Take a deep breath." The coughing continued. A piercing ring emanated through the room from of the numerous pieces of medical equipment. The filmmaker felt himself being pulled away from Roger by one of the two nurses that had just entered the room. His protests were ignored as he was forced out of the room.

"You don't want to watch this," was the only explanation offered.

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-Living right now and right now and right now-

He slumped against the wall, his ears ringing, trying to block out the noise coming from the room. Images of what was happening entered his mind nonetheless.

The first nurse exited and Mark hurried after her. "Excuse me!"

She turned to face him.

"What just happened?"

"We had to drain his lungs. It's typical with this type of pneumonia, so he doesn't drown in mucous." 

An involuntary shudder racked Mark's body.

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-Knowing I'll soon be without you-

He tentatively reentered the room. Roger's breathing was calmer.

"Well, _that_ was fun," he joked softly. Mark smiled at him, glad he was still had a sense of humor.

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-Is this another time? Or is this the last time? How much more time? When will time take away my visits to you?-

He gulped down a coffee in the cafeteria, aware of the looks he received from the visiting families around him. He knew he was disheveled and dirty, he hadn't left the hospital in days. He was scared to leave Roger's bedside. The grave look on the doctor's face every time he made his rounds confirmed this fear. Thinking about this made him nervous, he threw the rest of his coffee away and returned to the dim room that held all that was dear to him. 

"Roger, I'm back," he said in a hushed voice as he returned to his bedside and took his hand into his own. The once vibrant eyes of the musician opened halfway and his shallow breathing increased. 

"Goodbye love," Roger whispered almost inaudibly. 

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-And when you go where you're going-

Mark gently kissed the last breath from Roger's lips and watched as his eyes settled shut. The heart monitors started making their hideous sound, but to Mark it sounded as if they were under water. His grip on his lover's hand never loosened as the doctor rushed in, ordering the nurses. Couldn't they see that it wasn't any use? This was it. Mark could see it, he had seen it just seconds ago in the musician's eyes. Roger's expression was more tranquil than it had been in 11 months. 

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-Where will you be going?-

The funeral came all too soon for Mark. Friends and family were there sharing their condolences. He barely heard any of them. His friends whispered about him, worried about how he was taking it. 

"Mark honey," Maureen put a hand on his shoulder. Her face was dripping with tears, he felt ashamed that his face was dry. But there were no tears left. He heaved a tearless sob as she enveloped him in a hug. "I know, honey, I know." 

Collins coughed softly, letting them know it was time. Time to go to the cemetery. 

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-I know I'll keep going on my visits to you-

Mark stood, head bent, holding a single long-stemmed white rose. He was there long after everyone else had left. Dusk was creeping in, casting eerie shadows among the flowers. 

"I love you," he whispered as the tears slid down his face at last. He slowly bent down and placed the rose in the middle of the grave.

~fin~


End file.
